Just One Bite
by AdventuresinMonsterLand
Summary: The bite from an alpha can change everything. It can give you unbelievable power...unless it kills you. Bleeding out and terrified, Stiles wants nothing more than to survive, to help protect the town, to be with his friends and family, to be with Derek. (So bad, I know.)
1. A Little Bite

It hurts to breathe.

But the pain coming from my side overshadows the pinching I feel clamping around my lungs. Everything's gone cold and my chattering teeth is the only thing I can hear. The almost pale blue light coming through the windows reminds me it's nighttime, and also a full moon.

The blood pooling under me is warm and smelling it makes me feel sick. I force myself to my side, my ribs screeching in protest and the motion exhausts me. Blood sticks to the side of my face and I heave, my stomach contracting with every gag, and I'm relieved that what comes up isn't oily black blood that usually signals that your body is rejecting the bite.

I'm not dying, not yet anyways.

I didn't see the alpha that bit me, and at this point, it doesn't matter, because there's nothing that I can do to stop the change from happening. Even now, I can feel the full moon speeding up the process.

My head feels like it's splitting, like I hit it against the concrete, and the crackling extends all the way down to my jaw.

I try to say his name, but I can barely stutter with the chills crawling up and down my body, like a swarm of bugs overtaking me.

_Derek. Derek, where are you?_

I close my eyes, focusing solely on my hearing.

In the distance, I can make out the sounds of a struggle, of fighting, the fight Derek and Scott told me to run away from.

He'd looked so angry with me, the familiar red color of his eyes, the eyes that I always found comfort in, sent a jolt through my chest. In that instant, I was afraid of him.

"Stiles, _go_!" he growled, his voice distorted and heavy, more animal than human, more werewolf than Derek.

I hesitated.

_"STILES!"_

So I ran, triggered by the sound of his howl carrying behind me, echoing off the walls. My heart thumped in my throat and caught as the fighting began.

Disoriented by the dark, I stumbled up a flight of winding stairs, tripping to my knees and landing on the metal grating. The skin split and I cringed, watching blood stain my jeans, small criss-crossed cuts lining my palms. Already the sounds of the werewolves behind me were starting to get louder as more and more of them appeared, so I kept going, doing my best to ignore the stinging in my knees and hands.

But all my distracted thoughts weren't enough to keep me rooted with fear. I was less afraid for my life, and more for my dad, my friends, Derek. I never thought I would become this person, someone who's dependent on others to save him. A year ago, before Derek came storming into my life, I might have been braver, but not even my shield of sarcasm is sufficient in keeping me sane and sound, and let's face it, with this whole "werewolves-actually-existing" thing, I haven't been sane or sound for a while. Was I ever?

I remembered the small flash grenades Allison had given me before tonight and I held one tightly in my sweaty hand. It was barely the size of a child's fist, but it packed a punch.

Allison! She was still out there, in the rafters, waiting and ready with her bow and arrow. And there I was, running away like some coward.

This wasn't me, not the man I wanted to be.

But I couldn't just think of myself. If I'd stayed, I'd be putting Derek in danger; he'd be less concentrated on the fight, and more focused on keeping me safe. Me, Stiles, the stupid, useless human. Good for a laugh, but not good enough for anything else lately.

Frantic, I opened the first door I came across, cursing at it when it creaks. It's an old building, so creaking was expected, but I couldn't tame my rage from kicking it, creating more noise. I locked the door behind me, pulling a desk in front of it for extra protection, though a door and desk wouldn't keep a werewolf out, especially not an alpha.

I fumbled for my phone, hastily searching for Allison's name when my insides froze, ice forming in my veins.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," a voice laughed and I squeezed the grenade in one hand, clutching the phone to my chest with the other. "Poor Little Red, all alone without his big bad wolf."

I didn't recognize the voice and I couldn't find where it was coming from. The room was mostly empty and the farthest wall was lined with long, dirty windows, giving me a view of the night sky and unfinished construction.

"Who's there?" I asked, my voice shrinking into the back of my throat.

What I wouldn't give to have Scott's mom's baseball bat, ready to swing. Imagine that the wood wouldn't really do much of anything, but having something by means of protecting myself would maybe help settle the nerves boiling in the pit of my stomach.

I didn't even have time to react when the alpha hurled himself at me, leaving me breathless and bruised on the floor, my head filling with a high pitched whistle from cracking on the cement floor. Sightless, I chucked the grenade away from me and I heard it detonate.

The alpha growled something but I couldn't hear anything but the rush of blood filling my ears.

And that's when I felt it, the impossibly strong jaws of an alpha closing on my side, crushing my ribs; his claws digging into my left leg and arm to keep me steady. I screamed, raking my dull, short nails across his face to no avail.

It only lasted a few seconds, but the scorching heat from the bite remained imprinted on my skin, fire smoldering in my bloodstream with the infection.

He left, then, leaving behind a chuckle that continuously echoed from the walls, taunting me.

I'm stuck here, somewhere between life and death, willing my body to push ahead, push away the pain.

My phone rings from across the room and it's quiet enough in here that I can hear the sound of my voicemail.

"Stiles? Stiles, where are you?" Allison asks. "Pick up the _god damn_ phone, Stiles! Scott and the others, they're losing and, Jesus-" her voice cuts out and I hear the whirring of an arrow accompanied by yelping from a werewolf. "Stiles, I need you."

The call ends and I'm crying, choking on my tears.

I'm overcome with pain and can barely muster enough strength to crawl, but all I want is to be with with the others, helping them. Instead, I'm lying in a puddle of my own blood and fighting my urge to keep from vomiting.

_Get up, Stiles. Get. Up. You're stronger than this. You can do this. _

But I can't. The bite is already beginning to take me and I'm losing consciousness. Maybe it's better this way; if I'm like Derek, he won't have to worry so much about me, I won't be so reliant on him and the rest of the pack. I can help protect the town, protect my dad.

My entire body's gone numb and I can't even try to curl into myself.

Maybe I'm dying...

The thought shakes me and I think about everything I'm losing; dad, I can't leave him by himself; Scott, my brother, my family; Derek...the man who loves me, who touches me, who kisses me. The man I've given everything to. I don't try to remember the first night in his loft, the memory just rushes over me, like a wave.

_"No one else matters to me but you," he says, pressing his forehead to mine. He holds my hand against his bare chest, "No one." I breathe him in, the faint scent of blood still on him even after a shower, but I don't mind it as much as I would on someone else. With him, it's different. Sexy, even. _

_He kisses me, softly at first, filling me with a sense of discovery as I explore his body and he explores mine. I thought I'd hate the feeling of his scruff on my cheeks, but something about the prickling makes a burning sensation rise from my belly. His hands rest on my waist and his fingers slip up my shirt._

_This is happening. My thoughts are firing and I can barely keep them on course. My nerves clash with my excitement and I just start laughing, kissing Derek and laughing. He chuckles, too, and closes his impossibly strong arms around me, tight enough that it's hard to breathe, but the light headedness makes me feel giddy._

_He hoists me up, pushing me against the window and I pray to God there isn't anyone outside. My legs are wrapped around his waists and he's holding me up with just the strength of his pelvis, his hands, incredibly and surprisingly gentle, undress me. _

_In the moonlight, his eyes are even bluer and the color makes my heart sputter in my chest. He must hear it because he stops._

_"Are you okay?" he asks, genuinely concerned, brushing his fingers across my face and I kiss his palm._

_Nodding, I lean forward and meet him with a kiss, fumbling with the buttons of my shirt. In a smooth movement, it's gone and our naked chest are pressed to one another's, our hearts racing like trains, meeting in a head-on collision. I think I gasp, but it's swallowed by a kiss._

_I feel how hard he is, his stiff erection pressing against my ass almost uncomfortably, constrained by the heavy denim of his jeans. I reach down and pull on the waist band, giving him a little release when the button comes undone. _

_His kisses my neck, leaving light bites on my throat; he tenderly nibbles on my shoulders, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck. The way he handles me, with his kisses, his touches, his bites, is almost __restrained, like he's afraid to let the animal out. _

_"Please," I pant, and he drops me softly on his bed. _

_He stands above me, eyebrow raised and head cocked as he starts pulling down his jeans, his erection contained by a pair of dark blue boxer-briefs. I reach for him, touching his stomach and he moans at the feel of my skin and my dick get's so hard it hurts. _

_I touch him, massaging him over his underwear before pushes me back down and inserts himself between my legs, rubbing our equally hard erections together. I've never wanted to feel anybody else so badly and the desire is starting to cloud my mind. _

_He looks at me very seriously, licking his lips._

_"I love you, Stiles," he admits, and even though he looks away, I can tell his cheeks are red._

_My whole body trembles at his confession and I struggle to contain my joy. I grab both sides of his face and pull myself up, kissing him, tasting him, breathing in everything that is Derek, because I love him, too. _

_"I love you," I say, yearning for him to say it again._

_That night, he took every part of me and made it his. My body, my mind, my sanity, in that moment the only thing that mattered was Derek._

And now, I'm afraid that I won't even be able to say goodbye.

A flash of heat closes on my lungs and I gasp; it tastes like fire, like smoke, and I can't breathe. My whole body feels like it's breaking and I'm screaming; my spine cracks in and out of place and the pain leaves me blind. I really am dying.

_Fuck_.


	2. Anomaly

"I said I'm _fine_, Derek," I say, exasperated, annoyed, impatient, and annoyed, again. Annoyed with Derek, and annoyed by the fact that it's noon and the sun is bright as hell and Derek still refuses to get curtains for his windows.

He hovers over me, his rough fingers pinching my cheeks.

"Hey, take it easy, I'm delicate," I swat his hands away, but he catches them, squeezing my wrists together. "Honestly, Derek, I'm okay."

He kneels down and cocks his head.

"That bite should have killed you," he says, narrowing his eyes and lifting up my shirt; his fingers graze the scars on my ribs and I wince. "Does it still hurt?"

"I guess," I shrug. "But it's nothing I can't handle."

I stand up, but he pushes me back down.

"Jesus, Derek, I swear-"

"Shut up."

He's been like this for a couple of days now, since I got the bite. Two days and I haven't undergone any sort of change, no super senses, no super strength, not even better endurance or coordination. I'm still me, still Stiles, still alive.

Derek presses his palm to my ribs and I feel the pain leave my body, the veins in his arms rising black as he takes it from me. He winces with discomfort, his lip twitching.

"Derek, I'm fine," I say, trying my best not to sound like a bratty seventeen-year-old.

That night, when Derek and the others found me, I awoke on Deaton's table, the cold steel raising goosebumps on my arms. I could hear Derek screaming outside of the operating room and Scott and Deaton trying to calm him down, but the sound only made my throbbing headache worse.

"He's awake!"

Allison leaned over me, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"Oh, Stiles," she says, hugging me. I'm both weirded out and comforted by her affection. I can tell she's been crying.

"Am I dead?" I ask, turning away from the bright overhead light.

"No, but the first thing we're doing when you get better is training," she jokes.

I don't hear him when he comes in, I just turn and he's by my side, breathing heavily, like he's short on air. He's a mess, his shirt completely ruined and torn, his face bruised and cut, blood spotting every inch of him; there's even a layer of what I assume is concrete dust.

"Hey, big guy," I laugh, reaching out for him.

He leans down and lets me run my fingers through his hair. His hands are up on the table, denting it.

"Who was it?" he asks, head hung so I can't see the red in his eyes.

"What?" I ask, a little disoriented.

"Who was the Alpha that bit you?" he growls.

I flinch. "I-I don't know. I didn't see him."

"_Fuck," _he snaps, slamming his fists onto the table, leaving indentions in the metal.

"Try not to destroy my operating equipment, please. I do still have to run a business, you know," Deaton says, lifting up my bandages. "If the bite took, this should have started healing by now. It doesn't seem to be getting any better, but at least it isn't getting any worse."

"What does that mean?" Derek asks. "Is he going to die?"

Deaton leans in closer, inspecting the bite.

"I honestly don't have a clue. I've never seen someone survive the bite from an alpha _without _succumbing to the change. This is quite certainly an anomaly. For now, it seems that Stiles has some sort of immunity to the bite," Deaton says, swabbing the wound.

I hiss, balling my fists as the antiseptic does it job.

"How is that possible?" Scott asks.

"Lydia survived the bite," Allison reminds him.

"I have some theories as to why, but I can't be certain about them either," Deaton says.

"Theories?" Derek asks.

"Yes," Deaton says. "Just theories. Nothing solid."

"And you don't think it could apply to Stiles?"

Deaton raises an eyebrow, "If she's what I think she is, no. This...this is something else entirely."

"Great, I'm a freak," I say.

Scott chuckles, "Saving grace."

"This isn't funny, Scott," Derek snaps.

Scott glares, but Allison touches his shoulder and he relaxes.

"Hey, stop it," I say. "I feel fine, a little sore, but fine."

"But you aren't fine," Derek says. "You were bitten, and more some reason, you're still alive, and still human. I don't know how to deal with this, I don't know how to help you. I don't know if I'm going to lose you-" He stops, catching his breath.

I reach for his hand, locking our fingers together. "You're not going to lose me."

* * *

Derek lets me go, flicking his wrist as my pain works it's way through his system.

"I don't want you over exerting yourself today," he says. "Don't let Allison push you around, if you get tired, take a break."

I laugh. "Ha, like I'd let Allison push me around. You seen these babies?" I flex, but he doesn't smile. I stand up and walk towards him, wrapping my arms around his chest and pressing my forehead on the center of his back. He smells like fresh laundry. At this very moment, I just want to forget about everything, about the bite, about the pain, about the world. I just want to feel Derek's body, just for a little bit.

"Stiles," Derek says, and I can hear the hesitation in his voice.

"Please," I say, working my hands down his chest, over his abs - fuck, those abs - and stopping at his belt. "Please."

He turns around and kisses me once on the lips.

I loop my fingers on his belt loops, tugging at them. "Please."

Derek shakes his head, but even with his superhuman speed, he isn't fast enough to stop me from pulling down on his zipper and slipping my hand into his pants, feeling him rise beneath his briefs. He smiles crookedly and sighs.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You think doing the deed is going to hurt me?" I ask, leaning into him, holding him in my hand, feeling it become enormous in response to my touch.

He closes his eyes, "I can't..."

I kiss him, sucking softly on his bottom lip, and even without werewolf senses, I can hear his heartbeat quicken.

He grabs my wrist, stopping me.

"Allison's here," he says, relieved.

I furrow my brow.

"It's been weeks," I complain, crossing my arms.

"It's been four days," he corrects.

"Four days too many," I say.

He smirks and kisses my nose. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

My eyes widen and I feel my cheeks burn. "Back at'cha, handsome." I try to sound confident, but my heart won't stop sputtering.

"Go on," he says, kissing me. "Learn a lot."

I turn to walk away, hearing him whisper, "And be safe."

* * *

"Bow and arrows aren't really my thing," I say, tentatively holding the bow in my hand. "Don't you remember that time I nearly shot Scott in the face with your crossbow?"

Allison laughs, "That was a crossbow, there was trigger on it. Now, first, stop holding it like it's a rattlesnake."

I pout. "Don't have you have anything else? Maybe a little knife training? I think I could possibly be good at that. Maybe."

She sighs. "Just try, Stiles."

I pull an arrow out from the quiver Allison strapped to my back and try to string it, "Yeah, I think knife training would be better."

"Stiles."

I shoot it, but it barely goes more than a yard before tumbling to the floor.

"Yeah, no," I say, handing her the bow, pulling the quiver off.

"Stiles, you aren't even trying."

"Trust me, I am. I'm just not very good at this sort of stuff. I'm more of an idea kind of guy."

"Don't let the attack shake your confidence," she says. She opens a suitcase, revealing an assortment of knives; small ones, especially pointy ones, curved ones, some I've never even seen before. I gulp.

"Guns, I think I'd be great at firing a gun," I say.

She rolls her eyes. "Here."

The handles are wrapped in a rubbery material and the ends have loops; I've seen Allison use them to spin the blade before launching it. It has a nice grip, a nice weight.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready for wha-Ah!"

My blade connects with hers and she grins. "Rule one, don't let your guard down."

"D-d-don't let my guard down?! You didn't even give me a chance to put it up!" I argue.

"Again."

It's like this for an hour, Allison on the offense, and me trying, but failing, not to get cut. Allison is stronger than she looks, much stronger, and I can tell that she was holding back the entire time.

"Okay, okay, you've made your point," I say, throwing my hands up, breathless. "I suck. I get it."

"Stiles, the point of this is to help you get better, to help you get stronger," she says. "If you want, we can do gun training tomorrow. None of us want you going into something like that again unarmed and without basic defensive training."

"But I didn't purposefully put myself into that situation," I defend myself.

"That's not what I meant," she says.

"I know what you and everyone else is thinking. 'Stiles isn't tough', 'Stiles can't defend himself', 'Don't let Stiles come because he'll just get in the way'," I huff. "But I can't just sit in the sidelines and watch my friends get hurt. I won't."

Allison frowns. "Stiles, no one is saying that. We don't want anyone getting hurt. Which is why Derek and Scott and Isaac are always training, always getting stronger; why I'm always practicing with my bow, and hand-to-hand combat. It's just time for you to put in the effort so you don't feel this way."

I'm quiet, just staring at the rows of trees in front of me. She's right, I'm just being...immature.

"Now, if you're done feeling sorry for yourself, let's get back to work."

* * *

I'm glad Derek doesn't turn away or try to stop me when I kiss him.

It's nighttime when I get back, and he's sitting in front of the windows, the slow lull of music plays in the corner of the loft; the moon gives the room a bluish hue and makes him look pale. I run my fingers through his hair and he sighs into my touch; I kiss the top of his head, rubbing his shoulders.

He spins his chair around and holds my waist, nuzzling his face against my belly. Every part of my body is electrified, my skin tingling as he runs his hands up my back, his fingers pushing into my spine, bringing me to my knees. He catches my mouth with his; the kiss is hard and long and languid, there isn't any urgency in his touches tonight, just a sense of desperation, like this is the last time he'll get to kiss me.

He sits me on his lap, carefully pulling my shirt over my head. He looks mesmerized, his blue eyes unsure of where to look, but to keep looking. I turn away, embarrassed, but he forces me to look at him.

"No, don't," he breathes.

I wince when he touches my ribs, then sigh when he drains away the discomfort, kissing me to distract from the pain.

"I'd kill every single alpha in the world to keep you safe," he says.

I press my forehead against his, "You don't always have to protect me."

"You're not just some person that I'm fucking," he says, "you're _everything_. You're the sun, to moon, the stars; I know I don't say it enough, Stiles, but I love you. I love you more than I thought possible. And that..." he stops, cringing at the memory. "That night, when I found you, you were _gone_. The smell of your blood was everywhere and I lost it. Just the thought of having to live without you, without hearing you laugh, seeing you smile, hearing one of your bad jokes, or experiencing any of your little ticks..." He grits his teeth. "I can't."

I kiss his forehead. "I love you, too, Derek."

He smiles weakly and kisses me.

"But, my jokes aren't all bad," I say.

He laughs, full and hearty, "Come here."


End file.
